Do you really know how I'm feeling?
by Lily'sBookstore
Summary: A traumatic event happend in Hermione's life, but, is she as alone as she thinks? WARNINGS:implied rape, mild cursing, suggestive thoughts, mention of cutting, angst but sort of happy ending.


**Story title:**** Do you really know what I'm feeling?**

**Author:**** call me Luke, even though I'm a girl, I like it**

**Book****: Harry Potter**

**Timing****: Seventh year**

**Background****: Voldemort was defeated during sixth year. Dumbledore never died.**

**Pairing****: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy**

**Warnings****: Angst, mention of cutting, implied rape, suggestive thoughts, mild cursing**

_**Do you really know what I'm feeling?**_

It's at times like this that people tell you: "_I know how you're feeling, but …_". My question is, do you? Well, do you? Do you really know how I'm feeling? How it's like to be _alone,_ defeated? Feeling more and more desperate with _every fucking second_ you lie awake on your bed, too scared of what may happen to let your eyes close? Well, do you? Do you know how I'm feeling? 'Cause I think you don't. I think you don't know how I'm feeling. I think you have _no fucking idea_ how I'm feeling. I think you don't know what it's like to be a prisoner of your _own fucking mind_, of your own fears.

But _do_ tell me, do you think you know? 'Cause I'm starting to believe you do. 'Cause you never say _anything_, but those knowing glances you send me when you think I'm not looking-_I'm always looking_-aren't ignored, can't _be_ ignored! And as time goes by, taking away one more day, one more week, _one more month_, I'm starting to look more closely, to _see_ things. 'Cause I can recognize the signs-_how could I not?_ 'Cause my lilac eyes-_yes, I transfigurated them to be like that_-have the same dull tone as your silver ones. 'Cause when you pull on your long sleeves_, your always long sleeves_, to cover your wrists-_no one else notices, don't worry_- I can almost feel the scars that we share-_does it hurt that much? _'Cause I see how you flinch when someone is too close, almost the same stupid movement that I do. 'Cause I know the way you act like a bastard is only to hide your pain, just like I have a mask of my own.

And now, I've met the one person in the world-_the one fucking person_-that can understand how I'm feeling. That won't judge how I'm feeling. Nor the way I cope with it. And I want so desperately to make those silver eyes shine again, to be the one that makes them shine again. But…how can I help _you _when I can't even help _myself_, and believe me, I've tried-_tried so fucking much_.

And I know you know. You've guessed what's wrong with me. Not that it was too difficult, seeing the way I keep away from males. It was _obvious_ anyway. I can't exactly _blame_ for noticing, now, can I? Actually, I should thank you, and I do!-_thank so fucking much_. You're the _only one_ who notices. I can't believe you are the only one who _ever _notices! Sure, they notice my looks- _I've changed so fucking much_. You used to make fun of my hair, an uncontrollable mass of shoulder length brown hair, but now, you _can't_, straight, black as raven feathers, with oh-so-dark midnight blue streaks smooth hair now reaches the back of my knees. I've gotten ear studs and my tongue pierced, I always wear black, black and more black, it's not as if I were in the mood to wear anything else, chains and chokers are my only accessories, I'm not free. Even my nails, once bitten are now long black weapons, I can't afford being defenseless if I lose my wand. And I know you feel the same about that, your nails are sharper than mine by miles. I wonder how they would feel against my skin. Would they feel like blades, tearing at my skin, blood slipping through? I'm sure they would. But, would it feel good? Or remind me of…well, of _everything_? I_ do_ wonder if… But, what am I _thinking_? After all I've gone through… But I _do_ wonder. 'Cause, as crazy as it sounds, I think I trust you. I really _want_ to, I jus don't know if I can_ ever_ trust again. But if I can, then I _do_ trust you. I don't know why I feel like you would never hurt me, but I _do_.

I feel like I'm going crazy. I haven't talked to _anyone_ about what happened during the summer break. But I wonder if you would understand. Oh, what am I saying?, _of course_ you'd understand. I mean, I'm pretty sure you've gone through the same. And that's why after five months-_five fucking long months_-of watching, and trusting, and doubting and talking myself into it, I'm walking down the corridor to the library. And there you sit. The epitome of beauty and calm, and confidence, _all a mask_. Platinum blonde hair mixed with oh-so-blue. Ear studs and tongue piercings. Absolute pitch black clothing. _Beautiful_. And when you hear me arrive you look up from your book with dull silver eyes. And I say the words that could make us or break us: "Do you really know what I'm feeling?"And I just_ love_ your sad smile.

**A/N: This is my first story, but I'd really like some constructive criticism. Hope you liked it. **


End file.
